


Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and the Joys of Planned Parenthood

by Saraste



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco wants a baby, Family planning wizard style, Fluff, Humor, Knitting, M/M, Marriage, Mpreg, planned mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco wants Harry's baby in him. Harry is at first confused, then elated. Then he finds out what a long process it is to get Draco knocked up. Neither of them minds engaging in the baby-making process. They succeed, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Planning

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my sister, who has complained volubly over there not being enough planned pregnancy mpregs. Draco's pregnancy will be meticulously and laboriously (pardon the pun) planned to the last detail. Hope you like it.
> 
> (EDIT: Mistakes have been fixed as the aforementioned sister pointed them out. She has now agreed to beta this fic so there should be less mistakes in coming chapters.)

 

“I want a baby,” Draco states one morning when they are lazing about in bed.

 

Harry's face is a study in confusion, hope and some more confusion, topped with heart-tugging fondness, as he looks at Draco over the expanse of crisp, freshly laundered sheets covering the inches of bed between them.

 

It's a Sunday and Sundays mean lazy mornings with kisses, sometimes languorous sex, but mostly lying in bed facing each other and just... _being_.

 

“A baby?” Harry finally asks, voice hesitant. His green eyes are huge as they stare at Draco.

 

“Yes.”

 

“With me?”

 

“Obviously,” Draco replies, stretching a bit and then turning his full, undivided attention back to Harry.

 

...who is grinning like a loon; his whole face split with the widest, most ridiculous of grins Draco has ever seen on his face. It makes Draco ache, as he has _never_ seen this grin on Harry's face. Of course, there has been a myriad of grins from shy to sly to debauched but never, _never_ , this completely delighted grin. There has been happiness, contentedness, love and all in between, but this hopeful delight has never graced his Harry's face.

 

Harry rolls him over, kisses Draco senseless and they let the heat of the moment take them where it may. Which, in this case, consists of delicious friction and bodies pressed together and filthy filthy words whispered with breathless voices as wicked fingers caress, press and fondle. When they are done, Draco is safely tucked under Harry's arm, spooning his side, and they let their breaths slow and even out.

 

The once pristine sheets are rumpled under them and a sliver of morning sun trickles in from between inadequately shut curtains. Neither of them cares about that, though.

 

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Harry asks, because he knows Draco all too well. He sounds a bit hesitant still, like he cannot believe that Draco would want a baby with him. With Harry bleeding Potter. Never mind they're married. But Harry's fingers skate over the faded scars across Draco's chest and Draco _knows_. 

 

“A while,” Draco confesses, not going into more detail beyond that. Truth is that it's been at the back of his mind for quite some time, simmering. A family. With Harry. (That is a complete and utter lie, for there had been the idle thoughts in his head when they had been in Hogwarts, about green eyed babies with dark hair, idle adolescent thoughts. Shut up.) 

 

“Have you thought about the particulars? A surrogate? Adoption?”

 

This time it's Draco who rolls Harry over and looks down at him, one hand on Harry's chest holding him down and one on the flat of his own stomach. “No”, Draco's shaking his head, “I meant, I want a baby. _H_ _ere_.” He pats over the skin of his stomach for emphasis.

 

Harry looks at him for a long time in dead silence.

 

Draco stares back at him.

 

Harry stares at him. His eyes trail over Draco's body all the way down to his crotch where Draco's masculinity is on shameless display. Then his eyes come up to meet Draco's.

 

“Draco,” his tone is the one that he uses when talking to a deranged person, that this person is Draco is a decided novelty, as those deranged person's are usually one's Harry meets his line of duty “you're a man.”

 

“Yes,” Draco drawls, fingers tapping idly over the naked somewhat sticky skin of his belly “I think we've explored my masculinity quite thoroughly. I would think you know I'm a man from the way you keep begging me to stick my cock up your ---”

 

“Draco!” Harry exclaims, aghast, even when they're alone and there is nothing to get ashamed over.

 

For Draco _likes_ Harry begging him for a fuck.

 

Draco sighs. “Yes, I am a man. And?”

 

“Men cannot get pregnant.” Harry's eyes drop at Draco's crotch again, in a way which suggests that _that_ says it all.

 

“Yes they _can_.”

 

“NO they can't.”

 

“So you're saying you _don't_ want to have a baby with me after all?” Draco, impatient, just has to rile Potter up. The stupid Gryffindor is being purposefully thick headed, for Salazar's sake! There's also an ache beginning to bloom in Draco, an uncertainty that Harry might not be who he thought, the man he married, after all. That he doesn't want Draco's babies because Draco is a man, that Harry would be happier with Ginevra and... Draco is aghast to notice that there are tears on his cheeks. He looks anywhere but at Harry, drawing in on himself.

 

Harry grabs at his hands, drawing Draco's  inward-turned and maudlin  attention s back to him,  making his head snap to look at Harry .  Draco narrows his eyes at him,  even through his tears . 

 

“Of course I want a baby with you!” Harry exclaims.“I just don't get what you mean. How could you have a baby in you? Men don't get pregnant!”

 

Ah, so it's a muggle thing, of course.  It's not... Draco hasn't tripped over a muggle thing in a while.  Usually they are silly things like Harry referencing a...  ' t elly'  show or a muggle novel or something and not as important as them starting a family together. 

 

D raco holds Harry's gaze and draws his hands in his and lays them over his own stomach. “Wizards  _can_ get pregnant, it just involves a lot more planning than one of them just sticking his cock inside the other and hoping for the best.”

 

“Can you stop talking about it like that?” Harry pleads, “you make it sound so weird!”

 

“But you got the gist of it? That I _can_ get pregnant with the proper magics in place?” Draco asks, holding Harry's gaze, “that I could have your baby, _our baby_ , in here?”

 

Harry's eyes are wide when the idea finally sinks in. Draco can see it on his face. Can feel it in the way Harry presses his hands against  Draco's stomach.  Draco's hands above Harry's press down almost involuntarily. 

 

“Our baby?” Harry finally says, like he still cannot quite believe, like he can't dare to hope that such a thing could become reality. 

 

“Our baby. Yours and mine.”

 

A nd then Draco has an armful of crying Harry and they fall back down over the rumpled sheets and Draco holds Harry,  crying with him , embracing him tight because he  _knows_ . 

 

Knows how much this means to Harry. Orphaned and practically a stranger in his aunt's house, never quite knowing what a real loving family felt like until he met the Weasleys. These are tears of joy but also tears of loss for the childhood Harry never really got to have before Hogwarts, of the parents who never got to be  proper  parents and will never be grandparents to Harry's baby. Not that their child would be wanting for family, as the Weasley's have a foothold in Harry's life and there are always Draco's own parents, even if his father's relationship with Harry is one of mutual grumbling tolerance. But Draco knows they will adore any child he progenates, as she or he will be the next Malfoy heir and because they love him,  Draco, their only son. 

 

But Draco isn't doing this for any of those other people, he is doing this because he wants a child himself and had always known Harry wants children, even when they have spoken little about it. Maybe Harry has thought, somewhere at the back of his head, that Draco might not want to have children, being gay. Not all gay men do. Yet not all straight men do either. Doesn't matter now, as they've agreed on it. On becoming a family together.

 

“I love you Draco,” Harry mumbles into Draco's tear soaked shoulder after some time has passed.

 

They're back under the covers, slivers of light trailing over the quilted blanket over them from where the curtains are still not properly shut. If number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, wasn't protected by heavy magic Draco and Harry's bedroom antics would have given their neighbours an eyeful earlier.

 

“I love you too, I guess,” Draco assents, just a hint of teasing in his voice, fingers tracing idle patterns over Harry's skin as he holds him close.

 

There is an awareness in Draco, of this huge thing, of their lives never ever being the same after this, come good or ill. Draco hesitates, does not want to say, but he doesn't want Harry to go into this with his hopes in the clouds.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Hmm...”

 

“I have to tell you this,” Draco bites his lip and his hands hold Harry in place as his husband makes to get up to face Draco, “there is a possibility, just like with any couple trying to conceive, that it will come to nothing. Magic cannot create a life out of thin air.”

 

“I understand,” Harry agrees, but he sounds wistful, hopeful, “but I hope it does. I'd get to see you in a muumuu and any child with your genes would be ridiculously cute.”

 

“You will never see me in a muumuu, whatever abominable muggle thing that is,” Draco frowns in response.

 

“Aww,” Harry cajoles, elaborating, “it's a type of loose dress women wear, especially when they're pregnant.”

 

“No.”

 

“I see you don't deny a child of yours being cute.”

 

“It is not my habit to deny truths.”

 

“Okay, I give you that.”

 

“You're just trying to distract me.”

 

“I'm just trying to make you not go into this with a defeatist mindset,” Harry explains, “I'm not. I'm going into this thinking we'll succeed and I may get to see you in silly maternity dresses and go crazy when trying to feed all your cravings and see a silly smile on your face when you hold our baby...” he chokes by the end, and Draco does not blame him. Harry paints a ridiculously optimistic image, an ideal situation.

 

Draco wonders when he became such a pessimist. “ I'm not defeatist, I just felt it was right to inform you of all the possibilities. I plan to have your baby in me within the year.”

 

“A year?” Harry sounds incredulous.

 

Draco stares up at the roof. “We have an appointment next week,” he ignores the surprised exclamation from Harry, “and the initial diagnostics will take their time and then they will decide which course of action to take. It's not like there's a Baby-Grow potion with a 100% success-rate and compatibility with every single person.”

 

Harry giggles.

 

“Shut up, you,” Draco playfully swats at Harry, who retorts by swatting back.

 

They have a very, very late breakfast after Draco has succinctly proven the existence of his fully functioning masculine bits to a very vocally appreciative Harry.

 

Life is good.


	2. Sunday Lunch at the Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco go to the Burrow for Sunday lunch. They share their baby-news and while most are thrilled, there is one notable exception. Thankfully Draco has his stress-knitting at hand so he doesn't blow up the gardening shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read by [katajainen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen). I love her betaing and for her being a sounding board for my wacky ideas for this fic. I haven't had this much fun fandoming & writing fanfic since the heyday of my inumir days. It's good. <3 Thanks for the beta, dear!

 

They can't lie in bed all Sunday. Molly Weasley's Sunday lunches are not to be taken lightly and she frowns upon family members not showing up. There is some leniency (Draco sometimes muses aloud about the subject, which is always hilarious to Harry) for missing limbs and such, but if one is healthy enough to get out of bed, one needs to show up when invited. Or face a howler.

 

Harry, because Molly is the closest thing he has for a mother, is nervous.

 

He's nervous even though he knows that Molly doesn't disapprove of Draco. She'd had her understandable reservations in the beginning, mostly due to the relationship between the Weasley and Malfoy families, but once she had gotten to know Draco she hadn't harboured any ill will towards him. Molly will most likely be thrilled by their news, always excited by the expansion of the Weasley clan. Even so, Harry's hand is sweating in Draco's grasp as he throws in the floo-powder and yells “The Burrow!”. The magical fire swooshes up and they step into the flames, disappearing in a swirl of green smoke.

 

They appear, after a dizzying journey through the network, on the Burrow's sitting room fireplace, Draco's hand steadying Harry when he stumbles a little upon landing.

 

Draco smiles and dusts Harry off with hands that linger a bit more than they should.

 

“Do you have to paw at Harry right in front of me?” Ron's plaintive voice demands. It's coming from somewhere around the comfy, if somewhat worn, sofa and armchair set dominating the Weasley sitting room, where the Weasley's have their floo connection.

 

Harry sees Draco´s smirk but doesn't need it to know that his husband is doing what he's doing on purpose, hands lingering over him with touches that are a bit more handsy than they need to be to simply dust Harry off. Draco is always ready to get a rise out of Ron, who's still a bit put off by Draco and Harry's relationship, at least when they're being visibly affectionate somewhere Ron can see it.

 

Which is...

 

”Ron...” Harry says, exasperated, he does not need this now. Not from his best friend. He's not really irate, though, as he's been grinning for the last few hours. The exasperation ebbs as Harry thinks “ **baby”** and is lost again. Nothing, _nothing_ , can make his happy bubble burst. Not even Ron with his stupid ignorant attitude against Draco and his place in Harry's life. 

 

Before Harry can do anything more there is a loud 'thwack' as a rolled-up newspaper appears and swats Ron around the ears. Harry doubles over, laughing, as Ron runs around the room with the newspaper chasing after him and pretty much spanking him all over. Hermione stands up, smug expression firmly fixed on her face, from behind the armchair Ron was sitting in.

 

“Hi Harry, Draco,” she greets the both of them with a smile, flicking her wand. The newspaper gives Ron one final whack and then falls onto the floor, inert, its magic spent.

 

“'Mione,” Harry grins back, not sorry at all for Ron, who's getting up and rubbing his backside as he does so. He's drawn Draco against his side now and feels warm inside with the way Draco fits there.

 

“Granger,” Draco says, his use of her maiden name a sort of nickname by now, the once-there animosity worn off by fonder and fonder repetition over the years. It always manages to surprise Harry, in a way, that she and Draco are friends now.

 

Ron, blushing in embarrassment, nods at them both and Harry fights the urge to stick his tongue out at him as he draws Draco even closer against his side. He's not doing it to try and aggravate his oldest friend, much. Ron really is impossible, sometimes. Harry's getting a little tired of it. Has been for years.

 

*

 

They share the news when all and sundry are present. This includes Molly and Arthur, Ginny and Neville, Ron and Hermione and George. Percy isn't present as he's apparently visiting Charlie in Romania while Bill is home with Fleur taking care of an ill Victoire. Even thinking about another young family makes something warm flutter within Harry. He hopes he and Draco will get to have that for themselves, too.

 

Conversation is flowing around the table as they enjoy the delicious food that has been prepared in amounts to feed a small army. Molly is encouraging everyone to “take more, you look absolutely famished, do you young people even know how to cook?”, treating the younger generation like they were still at Hogwarts. Harry suspects that the cooking-related comment is aimed mostly at George. The topics of conversation are mostly mundane things, silly little everyday happenings, though there is also some shop talk. There inevitably is when the majority of the party work for the Ministry even if in different departments.

 

Draco squeezes Harry's hand under the table as he prepares himself to speak. They'd agreed that it should be him sharing the news, as Draco, even if they've been married for two years now, is still a bit of a point of contention among some of the Weasley's.

 

“We have some news, Draco and I,” Harry begins. His voice does not crack. It _doesn't._

 

Most faces turn to look at him and Draco, with varied expressions on them. There is no animosity there, however. Harry swallows and looks at Draco who smirks. The smirk morphs into a genuine smile, however, and Harry knows Draco's other hand is splayed over his stomach now. Which will, if they're lucky, have their baby in it sooner rather than later.

 

“What, that you're still disgustingly affectionate with each other?” Ron asks. He flinches when Hermione punches him in the side.

 

“No, _Bilius_ ,” Draco draws out Ron's middle-name, the one Ron absolutely _hates_ ,“ this is something far more important.”

 

Hermione and Molly are both giving them knowing looks, with Ginny joining in after a few breaths.

 

“Ron, be nice,” Harry sighs, squeezing Draco's hand in his. Years of animosity are still at play in the relationship between his spouse and best friend but they have been working on it. Harry's just glad it manifests verbally rather than physically, especially in regards to what he and Draco are about to undertake. Harry can't stomach the idea of something happening and a baby--- He shakes his head, for he can't get into such a line of thought, not now.

 

“What is it, Harry?” Molly steps in, her words silencing the ones that Ron and Draco both want to say. She's the mother Harry never got to know, the only mother he's ever known and her support is welcome. She rules her clan with a combination of affection and sternness. She's never cruel and always ready to listen, and she loves all of her family with a fierce passion. Harry knows her losses and she knows his.

 

Harry looks at Draco and the git is smiling. It's a bit cocky and all Draco. There's another hand-squeeze.

 

“We've decided to try for a baby,” Harry says.

 

The words hover in the room for a few seconds without anyone saying anything. Hermione and Ginny share knowing looks, their suspicions confirmed. Molly looks delighted, beaming at them. Ron looks torn, George smirks and Neville gives them a smile, as does Arthur.

 

Then the dam bursts.

 

“Oh, that's wonderful!” Molly says, getting up and coming towards them with the distinct intention of hugging them. There is no evading it and neither Harry nor Draco would want to, anyway.

 

“Awesome!” “That sounds bloody brilliant!” “You'll make great dads!” Are what the others say, more or less. All except Ron. Ron who seems to have been shocked speechless. He's evading Harry's eyes.

 

Molly is there to hug them before Harry can be much hurt by Ron's not joining the well-wishers. She gives them both a hug at the same time and they accommodate her. “Raising a family is one of the most wonderful things you can do in this world – but it can also be one of the hardest,” she tells them with a hushed, emotion-laden voice, her eyes bright with tears. She's so happy for them. “Good luck to both of you.”

.”

 

None of them come out of that hug with dry eyes.

 

There are more hugs, the absence of one from Ron a pang in Harry's chest, but he, nor anyone else, makes a scene over it though Draco clearly _wants_ to. He's irate on Harry's behalf now, as is his right as a husband. But Harry loves him even more for his restraint.

 

Finally, they settle, and dessert is brought out and they dig in. The table is filled with smiling faces. Save for one. There's a frown on Ron's face. And Hermione's smile is faltering as she's berating Ron under her breath. They're too far away from Harry and Draco so Harry can't make out what she's saying but he suspects he might not want to know.

 

Draco is all but curled up against Harry's side, their chairs pushed together as they tuck into their apple pie and custard.

 

“So,” Ginny begins, “what's the plan?”

 

It's Draco who answers, since Harry has his mouth full. He would have let him answer anyway, as Draco has read more about it all and has been making appointments behind Harry's back. Not that Harry minds. He's just thrilled that they're here, that they have agreed to embark on this scary and new chapter of their lives. And that everyone, Harry's family, by love, if not by blood, is so happy for them. Well... almost everyone, at least.

 

“We have an appointment on Wednesday“, Draco says, licking his spoon clean in a way that somehow manages to be discreetly indecent. “We'll find out our options then.”

 

“Are you going to...” it's Molly, who seems a bit hesitant now,” have you considered how involved you want to be?”

 

Harry frowns, for a moment he can't make out what Molly means. Then he gets it. “Oh, you mean...”

 

Draco cuts in before Harry can give any mangled explanations. Because he can, being who he is. Draco is always to the point and rarely ever sugar-coats anything. “I plan to be carrying our baby within the year.”

 

That's definitely to the point.

 

The statement also produces gasps around the table. Which is no surprise. Harry's sure he sees George passing money to Ginny under the table. He isn't sure how he feels about that.

 

No-one has the time to say anything before Ron blurts out: “Really? But that's so much trouble, isn't it? Not an easy job..” He sounds... like he never would have thought about it. Like it wasn't something to even consider. Like he had thought that Draco would never deign to put himself through what Harry was sure would be quite a taxing experience both emotionally and physically. “I'd have thou-”

 

But Draco cuts Ron off before he can continue.

 

“You don't think I can do it, then? You think I'm not good enough for him? For Harry?” Draco snaps acidly. He's past his limit now. His spoon clatters to his plate and his hands are clenched to fists. “That, despite being bloody married to him I shouldn't be _allowed_? Just because you can't fucking let go of what happened years ago?”

 

Draco's up and pacing behind Harry, who also abandons his dessert, suddenly feeling not hungry at all. From the corner of his eye Harry sees worried glances being exchanged between most of the people around the table. He sighs inwardly. It's not like he hasn't seen this coming.

 

Draco is so angry, all his previous restraint gone. “I forgave him for using a **fucking Sectumsempra on me**! He slashed me open, hurt me and I still have the scars! I was a bully, yes, but you're no better if you can't let it go.”

 

And with that, Draco storms out of the kitchen, through the drawing room and out into the garden, banging the door closed behind him.

 

Harry stays rooted to the spot for a long while because he hadn't thought that Draco would go there. To that evening now almost a decade past when Harry had done something utterly and completely stupid and used a spell without knowing what it would do. He still had nightmares about it, and dreams in which he didn't use the spell, but those were sometimes worse because they featured a Draco who poured ceaseless and uncaring vitriol over him, bringing up all the animosity of their Hogwarts years.

 

When Harry looks around the table he sees faces in various states of shock. Hermione is staring at Ron aghast, her face clearly showing how hurt she is over what he's done, over having injured Draco so deeply. And that's not right.

 

Hermione gets up, her chair clattering, and smacks Ron's cheek. “How _could_ you?”

 

“I didn't mean it like that!” Ron exclaims.

 

He's looking at Harry and he knows that he's sorry. He knows that but it doesn't mean that Draco isn't hurting now. “How did you mean it then?”

 

He aches to run after Draco but knows from experience that his husband needs a few minutes by himself to blow off steam. And Harry needs to try and diffuse this situation. He and Ron have been skirting around the issue of his marriage to Draco and Ron's dislike of him for so long. It needs to be brought out now because Harry can't do this anymore. He needs Ron to find forgiveness for Draco like Draco has found for Harry and vice versa. Because now there's a baby, well the idea of a baby, in the mix and... 

 

“I didn't mean it like anything,” Ron says, “I was just surprised, that's all.”

 

“Well, you bloody well made it sound like he shouldn't,” Harry lets his irritation show. “He's only my HUSBAND.”

 

And with that, he leaves in search of Draco.

 

*

 

“I'm sorry Ron's an ass,” Harry tells Draco as he sits down next to him.

 

The weather's perfect, just a bit nippy, but the sky is clear and the sun is shining. Draco's ensconced himself in a far corner of the garden, sitting on a bench and knitting furiously. It's his stress-knitting, Harry notes, the one Draco carries around shrunk in his pocket everywhere he goes. The current one is an intricate Aran sweater in a lovely shade of Gryffindor red. Harry is always amazed at how Draco manages to shrink it and still not lose any of his cable needles. The making of intricate cables and moss-stitch and whatever patterns Draco has chosen for these garments that he knits to calm himself seems to have worked. Harry is mesmerized by how easy Draco makes the process look. Even more so as there isn't a pattern chart in sight.

 

Time passes and Harry just sits. Draco's bamboo knitting needles barely make a sound as he works.

 

“I just...” Draco finally says, finally looking up at Harry, “How can he hold a grudge for so long? It's not like we haven't been shagging for, I don't know, five years and counting? Like he hasn't _known_.”

 

He's, of course, referring to that one time when Ron had walked in on them having sex in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Draco had updated their wards after that.

 

Harry throws his head back and looks up at the sky. “I don't know. He did seem to be sorry for what he said, if that's any consolation.”

 

“He should be sorry, the bloody Gryffindor git.”

 

“I thought I was your Gryffindor git?” Harry smiles fondly. But his face sours as he remembers.

“Sometimes I wonder how you've forgiven me for all that I've done to you.”

 

Slate grey eyes meet his before Draco looks down at his knitting again, fingers nimbly working the pattern. It's mesmerizing, looking at him create these things with just simple skeins of yarn and a few knitting needles, transforming them into something beautiful. Their child will never be wanting for knitwear. Finally, Draco speaks. “I forgave myself for doing worse; I can't see why I wouldn't forgive you for something that happened when we were nothing but children in a world which wanted us to be adults before we were ready.”

 

Draco cups Harry's jaw with a hand, holding on almost too tight. “I do not blame you. Yes, I wish that particular incident hadn't happened, of course I do. But I _have_ forgiven you. I wasn't the easiest person to be around at that time and I'd been nothing but a bully towards you.”

 

Harry sighs. “That doesn't mean that I'll always be sorry that I did it in the first place. There was no call for it. None.”

 

“I'm not saying that you're excused for having done it. Just that it's in the past. And we're looking into the future now, in which we'll have a baby and love it with everything we have.”

 

Harry kisses him then, heedless of the knitting laid down in Draco's lap. Until one of the needles stabs at him.

 

“Do not mess with my knitting.” Draco growls, fussing over the slight mess in his lap. Luckily none of his needles snapped on impact and all his cable needles are still accounted for. There isn't even a dropped stitch. “I have half a mind to change the colour-scheme and knit this for myself, you know. But the colours never come out right if I change them half-way through, not even if I change the finished piece.”

 

“You and your knitting,” Harry mutters.

 

“Well, if you _don't_ _want_ this sweater...” Draco drawls, cocking his cable needle at Harry.

 

 “Shut up and knit.”

 

 

 


End file.
